


Strange Bedfellows

by trashtrove (editoress)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mild Language, mild violence, panic attack in one chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/trashtrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd think it would be harder to be best friends with a tree you can't understand and a temperamental raccoon.  But it turns out Mandos are up for anything.  Heartwarming mercenary shenanigans follow.  Bit of a crossover with Star Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themusicofmysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themusicofmysoul/gifts).



> For Cassie. My vod'ika, my friend, and honestly one of the best souls life has ever given me the opportunity to know.

Rocket is not a hugger.

You didn’t even have to know him very long to figure that out.  No trial and error necessary.  Just don’t touch him.  Unlike some now-maimed idiots that show up in bars, you’ve never mistaken him for an animal or a pet.  He accepts the occasional affection from Groot in the same way he accepts all evidence that Groot cares about him, which is with a gruff retort and a look that says you _definitely_ didn’t see that.

So you don’t bother, and everything works out.  You’re even kind of getting along with him, which you didn’t think was possible when you first started working together.  Bounty hunters are normally a lonely lot, but you suspect the three of you are exceptions.  Groot is definitely not the mercenary stereotype.  He doesn’t even try to hide it.  He’s easily distracted by water, other trees, and people who look particularly down, to whom he sometimes hands out flowers.  He beams at you and Rocket too much to be threatening, and though you don’t yet understand all the nuances of “I am Groot,” whatever he’s saying to you always sounds kindly.

Rocket is hardly any better.  He’s a four-foot whirlwind of cussing and kicking and flinging insults, sure.  He’s kneecapped people for cooing over him and trying to stroke his fur.  But none of that stands up to the fact that he falls asleep in whatever room Groot is in, even if that means passing out over his tool box.  He makes sure the three of you have enough food for everyone.  And even you can’t miss the fact that his snarled rants when you do something stupid and endangering are more than just annoyance.

But Rocket wants to pretend they aren’t.  That’s how he does things—offhand, angrily, with sarcastic snorts.  And he’s not a hugger.

But you are.

That’s why you’ve never found these two all that strange; you don’t exactly fit the galaxy’s image of a bounty hunter, either.  To you, it just makes sense.  Why wouldn’t you worry about family first?  Why should being a merc mean you have to be emotionless and alone?  It’s just a job, a job you happen to be fairly good at.  And you can’t argue with the perks of possibly doing the galaxy some good _and_ getting to stab a few crooks at the same time.  The only downside is spending months away from home like this.  Rocket and Groot have made it a bit better, without question.  Even so, hurried calls and typed messages can only get you so far.

You’re in some backwater port waiting on word of a job, and it’s starting to get to you.  It’s getting a little tense anyway, really; Groot is the only one who’s any good at waiting.  You’re listlessly cleaning your blades.  Your armor is already spotless, a sign of how long you’ve been here.  You don’t look up when Rocket comes by with a half-disassembled tracking device, but you _do_ look up when he trips with a crash.

He rolls to his feet immediately, bristling.  “ _Dammit_ , Cas, watch where you keep this stuff!”  He shakes the tracking device at you, wires flopping everywhere.  An electrode plate falls to the floor with a clatter.  “Look at this mess—I spent all morning on this.”

There’s a stupid anger bubbling in your chest.  You reach out with your foot to drag back the boot he tripped over.  “Sorry,” you mutter.

“I am Groot,” Groot offers from the next room.

It sounds consoling.  Normally that’s enough to straighten the both of you out, but you’ve been here four days and this ship is too small and you haven’t heard from anyone at home in two weeks and it’s just too much.  You stand up and stuff your things into your footlocker.  You were going to offer another apology, but Rocket’s already moved on.  Some of the sunlamps in the back, you recall, need tuning up.  You’re not the best at electronics, but sunlamps are pretty simple, and at least Groot will be grateful.  And maybe you’ll stay out of everyone’s way in the back there.

It is not to be.  You have the cover off one of the lamps and are just starting to try to relax in the silence when padded footsteps sound behind you.  “What’s up with _you_?” Rocket asks roughly.

“Nothing.”

He immediately makes a ‘ _tch_ ’ noise, sharp and full of eye-rolling disbelief.  You reflect that your short answers are probably how he knows something is wrong.  Rocket doesn’t talk about things, but you do.  You figured out that you were really friends the day you realized that he didn’t mind that.

But instead of pressing it, he just says, “Yeah, okay.”  You assume he left.  It would be the sensible thing to do.  But instead, just as you’re examining the wiring, his voice comes again from just beside you.  “I got it.”

“What?”  But before you can argue, sharp claws are poking through your clothes as he scrambles up to sit on your shoulder.

This… _this_ is new.  You’ve seen him on Groot’s shoulder, of course, but usually when he wants the height advantage to pick people off with whatever gun he’s toting.  Rocket, in usual Rocket fashion, says absolutely nothing about this development and leans forward to fiddle with the sunlamp.  “Hand me the meter,” he grunts.  You do so.

Your cheek tickles, and it takes you a moment to realize that his tail is curling around your neck.  You’d think it was for balance if you hadn’t seen him perch on a pole while handing a gat.  Come to think of it, he’s leaning just slightly against your head, elbow brushing over your hair as he pulls connections out of the panel.  It’s warm.  And it’s very nice.

The question will never, ever be asked out loud.  Rocket would just get huffy and leave, and it would never happen again.  But in the privacy of your mind, you feel you’re allowed to wonder— _is this Rocket’s version of…_

_Am I getting a hug?_

“Hey, hold this,” he orders, dropping a burned-out bulb in your hand.  You obey, smiling because he can’t see it.

It takes a suspiciously long time to fix up all the sunlamps, and you wonder at how much better you feel when you’re done.


	2. Dumb Nicknames

You’re really getting tired of this guy.

The longer he stays on the ship, the more you think about how easy it would be to knock him out.  It wouldn’t even dent your gauntlets, and there _probably_ wouldn’t be any blood.  But the bounty on him demanded alive and undamaged, which means the money is good but you have to listen to him go on about the improbably long list of powerful people who are going to rescue him.

Rocket’s already pegged him a few times with a vicious sort of stun gun, but even he has to admit that “ _relatively_ undamaged” has its limits.  “You just make sure that me shutting your mouth is never worth more than the money we’re getting for handing you over,” he announced to their mark just this morning.  “Real simple.  You only got one job.  Me and Groot and Cas, we’re doing all the hard work.”

You have to agree with that.  It’d been a real pain to capture this man without breaking something.  Unfortunately, because of that difficulty, he got it in his head that he nearly fended off the three of you singlehandedly, and that is only making his rants less bearable.

His name is Berenzha Toll.  He’s the son of a prominent politician.  Apparently he ran off in search of allies when he and his mother had a major disagreement—something about a loudmouthed movement to secede his homeworld from the Nova Empire.  He doesn’t want to go home.  His mother doesn’t want him to start a revolution.  You’re pretty sure that he wasn’t going to find any followers anyway.

“Please, Rock’ika,” you beg.  “You’ve got to have a tranquilizer.  Or _something_.”

“You talking to me?”  Rocket looks dubiously at you over his shoulder, ears cocked lopsidedly.  “Not for his species.  Used up the last one a couple of weeks ago, remember?”  He prods at the nav screen.  “And if we went out of our way to restock, well, that’d take just as long as getting Mister Personality back home.  If you’re so sick of him yammering, let Groot watch him.  He don’t care.”

You can’t help but feel a little guilty about Groot.  That tree is a blessing.  He’d sit in there and keep an eye on Toll the whole way back if you and Rocket asked him to.  He’s already mostly taken over, since the two of you only lasted a day and a half before the guy drove you up the wall.

“No, I’ll go,” you grumble.  You trudge down to the tiny holding cell.

When he sees you coming, Groot shifts upright with a grateful “I am Groot,” pats your shoulder, and ambles away.  You’re not even inside, just lounging beside the door, but there’s a small window and Toll can tell he has a new audience.

“These conditions are horrendous, I’ll have you know.  I suppose you think you’ve fed me properly, but this sludge is hardly what I’d call _edible_ , much less a meal.  When my people come for me, oh, I assure you, I’ll return your so-called hospitality _tenfold_ —”

You let your head fall back against the bulkhead with a _thunk_ and tune him out.

Day and night are not very regular in space, especially not on a ship with Groot and Rocket.  The three of you make it up as you go along, sleeping when you need to and putting forth effort to be awake all around the same time.  Even so, it feels like you watched Toll all night, so when you finally swap off with Groot again, you’re exhausted.

When you wake up, it’s to the most beautiful words in the galaxy.  “Hey Cas, get up—we’re almost there.”

You rejoice internally, as externally you’re busy scrubbing your eyes and yawning.  By the time you pry your eyes open, Rocket is gone.  You take a few minutes to wake up and don your armor.

When you find him again, Rocket looks just as pleased as you feel.  “Finally, right?”  He grins.

You grin back.  “Morning, Rock’ika.”

Instantly his smile falls into a scowl.  “What the hell, Cas?”

“What?”

“That’s the third time you’ve called me that.  My name too hard for you?”

Nonplussed, you recall the conversation—and freeze.  Oh.  You’ve been calling him Rock’ika.  You know you’ve been thinking about him in those terms for a while, but now you’ve been saying it out loud without considering that he has no idea what it means.  “It’s just a nickname, Rocket.  In my language.  _‘Ika_ —it just sort of means ‘little.’”

You know it’s a mistake even as you’re saying it, and sure enough Rocket bristles.  “ _Little_?”

“Not like that,” you amend quickly.  “Like… you know, like you’d call a brother.”

He stops.  His eyes widen.

“I am Groot,” you hear from the back corridor.

Rocket shakes it off.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m landing!  Just keep him in there.”  He jumps into the pilot seat and takes the ship down from orbit, gaze strangely intent on the controls.  You’re not sure whether to say anything, so you don’t.

As difficult as this job was, handing Berenzha Toll over is no trouble at all.  His mother is waiting at the landing point with guards, a small case of units, and a stern expression that says she wants to keep the formalities to a minimum.  So that’s exactly what the three of you do: you shove Toll down the ramp, collect the reward, and leave.  No fuss, no mess, no stuffy speeches.  You can only hope that Toll is getting the biggest earful of his life right now.

You’re in your bunk enjoying the silence when Rocket comes in.  He doesn’t look at your or speak to you, just sits on your desk like he just happened to come into this particular room.

And then he says, “Don’t expect me to come up with any fancy nicknames for you.”

“Okay.”  He calls you Cas and an assortment of swears, and with Rocket, that’s enough.

He sniffs.  The end of his tail twitches.  “But I figure if it makes you happy to call me whatever it was, that’s fine.”  He eyes you.  “Now that I know it’s not an insult or something.”

You smile.  You can’t help it.  “Okay, Rock’ika.”

He’s trying not to grin.  But his ears lift a bit and his tail is curling in that way you know it does when he’s super pleased.  “Yeah, fine,” he huffs unconvincingly.  You’re still smiling to yourself when he leaves.


	3. Interludes

You wake up, sort of.  You’re conscious.  Reluctantly, barely, but it’s there.  You’re still too far gone to really move, though you notice you have one pillow behind your head and one weighing down on your stomach.  That doesn’t seem right, but whatever.  You’re tired.

Maybe that’s why it takes so long to remember that you only own one pillow.

It’s the middle of the night, so it’s probably half a minute at least before you realize that that fact means that one of the things you are feeling is not a pillow.  You wiggle the fingers of the hand you have shoved behind your head, and that definitely feels pillowy.  You blink a few times to prep yourself for the next part, which is lifting your head and squinting down at your own torso, where the other object in question is.

Where Rocket is.

He carries himself with such bluster that you sometimes forget he’s not all that large, but right now is not one of those times.  He looks positively _small_ curled up in a tight ball on your stomach, draping a little on each side.  His breathing is even.  The only clue that anything might be wrong is that he’s here at all.  You turn your head to look for Groot—you’ve never known Rocket to fall asleep anywhere Groot wasn’t—but your quarters are cramped and it’s easy to tell no one else is here.

"Rock’ika?" you ask blearily.

He twitches awake and opens his eyes to glower at you.  “What?” he snaps challengingly, voice hoarse.

You reconsider.  Your eyelids are drifting closed anyway.  “Nothing.”

He mutters something that might have been “Yeah, ‘s what I thought.”  You feel his weight shift, but he doesn’t seem to be tensing up, so that’s good.

You struggle a bit and pry one eye open to be sure he really is sleeping again.  He is—relaxed, face half-buried in your nightclothes.

You have a lot of questions, but none of them are making themselves clear, so you just go back to sleep.

* * *

 

It's not unusual to hear Rocket muttering curses to himself.  In fact, you'd only be worried if you didn't hear it daily.  But this time it catches your attention--probably because he sounds hilarious.

You lean into the doorway and don't ask why he's talking like a moron.  "Hey, Rock'ika," you greet casually.  "What's the matter?"

He whirls on you, glaring from runny, red eyes.  " _Whad_?" he snarls.

You put your hand over your mouth.  After a moment, you ask, "Do you have a cold?"

He snorts wetly and continues to glare.  " _Doe_ , I jus' _feld_ like nod using by dose for a few days," he sneers.  "Of _course_ I god a freakid code!"

You're laughing.  And to make up for the fact that you're laughing, you say helpfully, "You should get that looked at."

He waves you off scornfully.  "Whadeber, I'll be fide."

"I mean it, Rock'ika.  Don't be _atin_."

He points a finger at your face.  "I don' know whad dad beans, but I'll be id all I _wan'_."

You're pressing your hand against your mouth, but it's too late.  He can tell how hard you're laughing.  It's not your fault he perfectly illustrated the definition of _atin_.  "It'll go away faster if you get it seen to."

Rocket stands stock still.  "I'b nod goi'g to a doctor."

Oh.  You hadn't thought about it.  You've seen him get help before, but there is a difference between Groot or you or a field medic and going into a medical center.  "Sorry, Rocket."  You aren't giving up, though.  "I'm going to get you some medicine, though.  I'll bring it back to you."

He snorts again, goes slightly cross-eyed, and growls, " _Fide_."

He protests like that over the next two days, because you're there to make sure he takes the medicine and gets rest.  But you notice that if you ever go too long without fussing over him, he gets absolutely offended.  It seems his muttering is all the thanks you're going to get.

You decide it's probably worth it.

* * *

 

You were a little afraid that Rocket would forget you once he had more than two people in the universe watching his back.  Rocket thinks it’s the stupidest idea he’s ever heard of.  You’re not sure about that, but two weeks of staying with the Guardians while you’re all stopped over on Xandar has proven that you were definitely wrong.  Rocket still finds time to complain at you.

"Seriously, Cas?" he whines.  "Some Nova guy?"

"You’re friends with Dey," you protest.

He snorts and mutters.  “I’m not _friends_ with Dey,” he informs you.  “I hack his official inbox and flood it with questionable material.  It’s _like_ being friends, only he doesn’t like me and I get a laugh out of it.”

There are a lot of things you could point out here, like the time Rocket got stuck watching Dey’s kid (and loved her) or the fact that he and Dey went out drinking last night with Quill and a few other Nova officers.  Instead you say, “Yeah.  Sure, Rocket.”

"Dey’s _okay_ ,” Rocket admits with entirely fake nonchalance, “but that guy?  Looks like the Nova Dickwad poster boy.”

You scowl.  Richard Rider is nothing but stunningly, unfairly handsome.

"Look at that smug, self-righteous face.  It’s a miracle he’s alive, ‘cause it looks like he’s got a stick up his ass the size of Groot’s arm."

It’s the first time since you’ve reunited that you wish Rocket would go hang out with his new friends.

No, the second time.  The first time was when you had the bad judgment to have Rocket _with_ you when you got to speak to Richard in person.  Though at the time your first wish would have been to disappear.

"Stop it," you groan.

"All _right_ , fine, I’m just saying,” Rocket mutters.

"What are you saying?" you demand.

"I’m saying _what the hell, Cas_?” he retorts.

Okay, so you’re a mercenary, and Richard Rider is an upstanding Nova Corps warrior.  It’s a little unusual, especially given Nova’s history with mercs.  In fact, there’s probably no shot of this happening.  He’s probably only given you the time of day so far (and what’s four conversations and one time at the shooting range, really?) because you’re affiliated with some of the Guardians.

But you don’t say any of this to Rocket.

It’s much more satisfying to shove him entirely out of his chair and listen to him curse on the way down.


	4. The Lab

You’re leading the way this time.  You worked at a medical office back before you left home, before you figured out what you were really good at.  Medical facilities aren’t exactly alike across the galaxy, but there are certain similarities you’re good at reading.  So when your target dove into one to escape you three (using the sick and injured as a shield—the _hut’uun_ is getting an extra clobbering for that), you led Rocket in after him while Groot circled around back.

You are trying to be as respectful as possible, partially because you know what doctors deal with daily and partially because Rocket is right behind you making a fuss.  He’s pissed off.

“This loser’s gonna be glad he’s in a med center when I’m through with him,” Rocket’s snapping.  Going through corridors at a dead run isn’t lowering his volume any.  “Bounty doesn’t say he has to have all his extremities.  I am not in the freakin’ _mood_ for this today.”

“Calm down, Rocket,” you tell him, sounding a little sharp yourself.  He’s usually pretty cool about chasing people down.  It’s a job, after all.

One of the doctors, anxious to stay out of your way, points you to a downstairs testing area and tells you that not only has your new least favorite target gone that way, he’s trapped himself down there.  The door you’re looking at is the only way in and out.  It’s pretty much the best news you could have asked for.  You race inside and skid into the lift, followed closely by Rocket.

Rocket is not nearly as excited by this development as you are.  His hackles are up, his ears are almost flat, and he keeps popping the clip in and out of his assault rifle.

You try to watch him and the lift door at the same time.  “Rock’ika?”

If he planned on answering you—debatable—he doesn’t have the chance before the door slides open.

Now this is creepy.  There’s no one down here that you can see.  It’s just empty tables and racks of stored equipment glimmering ominously in the dim light.  You slap the lights on and that actually helps.  You were half afraid that this was going to be straight out of a scene from a horror flick, but there are no bloodstains or questionable vials here.  It’s exactly what any reasonable medical center basement would look like.

“Looks like a straight shot,” you comment.  That’s good.  It means your target won’t be able to get around you and sneak back to the upper levels.  You draw your blade and start forward, letting your helmet adjust to the lighting to give you the best visual.

You’re several meters into the room when you realize Rocket isn’t following you.

He got maybe four steps from the lift, but now he’s frozen, lips twisted in a useless snarl.  His left hand can’t seem to keep a grip on the front of his rifle.  “Sh- _shit_ ,” he says, choked.

You’re running back to him even as you check the area.  “ _Rock’ika_?  What’s wrong?”

“It just looks like that stupid… _lab_.”  He sucks in a breath.  “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ —”

Suddenly the testing area is not so friendly.  You noted the medical equipment, but you didn’t really _see_ what your friend does—scalpels, needles, temporary surgical implants.  Nightmares, to the right person.  Slowly, you crouch and take your helmet off.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Rocket slashes his hand through the air, and the end of his rifle drops to the tiled floor unheeded.  “We gotta _get_ this guy,” he declares.  His voice cracks the same way it does when he’s drunk and near tears.

“Forget him,” you insist.  “Come on, Rock’ika.  You need to get out.”

" _No_.  Cas—"  He's trying to tell you something, he really is, but he's not breathing well enough and his eyes are darting around.  "They didn't—they didn't win— _got_ it?  They didn't beat me then and they're _not_ —beating me—now!"

"Nobody's beating you, Rocket."  You take one more look around before focusing on your friend.  "Not while I'm around.  I'm right here, Rock'ika.  You gonna look at me?"

He does.  Only because you know and trust each other, you know.  He'd never look anyone but you or Groot in the eye that long.  You can see how terrified he is, and you're trying to be calm for him.  "I think we should go back up the lift," you say as gently as you can.  "Just to regroup.  This guy isn't going anywhere.  Okay?"

He lets out a breath in a high, soft way that could become a sob but doesn't.  "Okay," he mutters.

You cover him on the way back to the lift, but your target doesn't show himself.  By the time you get back up, that area of the medical center has evacuated, so you and Rocket sit against the wall alone.

"Some merc," Rocket spits once he has his breath back.

"You're not weak," you tell him.

He laughs mirthlessly.  "Yeah."

You bite back a sharper retort than you want to use.  "I don't know any weak career mercenaries," you comment instead.  "Except that one asshole from Kis."

He laughs again, and this time it's a start.  His shoulders fall.  "Still stupid."

You shrug, mouth pressing into a frown.  "Fear is fear.  It's always gonna be stupid."

Rocket snorts.  "Someday you've got to introduce me to these people of yours, Cas.  I like their style."

You smile.  You guys have been so busy that you haven't thought about it.  "You would."  If you make all the money from this job that you expect to, you vow to yourself, you'll take Rocket and Groot straight home with you.  It's time for a visit anyway.  "Which rifle is that?" you ask, nodding at his weapon.

"Huh?"  He looks down at it and pats it fondly.  "Point-two repeater."

"Good.  You can sweep the side rooms.  We'll be in and out in no time.  I'll grab him."  You hope he's still in an okay mood.  "I'm thinking he doesn't need all his extremities."

He is.  He grins and aims reflexively down his repeater.  "Sounds like you've been learning from the best."

When you go back in, Rocket is right beside you.  You know he has to take point with that monster assault rifle.  He knows that, too.  You reach down and put a gauntleted hand on top of his head for a second.  You've never seen anyone do that to him and survive, but it feels right in the moment, and he doesn't kneecap you.

He moves ahead.

And then with a characteristic roar he clears out the side alcoves one by one.  You move behind him with your blade out and ready.  If his tail brushes your leg every other step, if he refuses to keep going until it does so, then, well, it's too loud to mention it, and you wouldn't anyway.

There—to the left.  Rocket pins the form down with very persuasive fire while you slip behind your target's cover.  He has a pistol in his hand, but you knock it out of his grasp (perhaps slicing a few fingers on the way) and hold him at sword point.  He starts to surrender.

"Just shut up," you suggest.  "It'll go better."

Rocket has already scrambled up on top of a crate, where he's aiming the repeater at the target.  He shoots you a grin—a little hysterical, but wide and toothy and Rocket-like.

It falls to you to drag the guy along with you _and_ to apologize to the medical center staff, because Rocket doesn't seem interested in either activity.  When you guys go around back to find Groot, he's in one of his sun trances and doesn't even notice you're there until Rocket smacks at his arm.  You get to listen to Rocket chew Groot out for being an awful rear guard the whole way back.  It's okay.  It's normal.

Rocket doesn't say anything to you about what happened, and that's okay because that's normal too.  You don't expect Rocket to talk about everything.  It's enough to know he's all right.

That night, you wake up suddenly.  It's dark—ship's night—and you can't remember what woke you up.

Then you look down and see Rocket curled up on your stomach.

This isn't the first time this has happened.  You stop and put it together, more by instinct than sluggish thought.  He's still awake; you can tell by flexing fingers and rapid breathing.  It's the only reason you ask.  "Rock'ika, did you... have a nightmare?"

He stirs.  "None of your business, Cas," he mutters into your nightclothes.

That's a yes.  You shouldn't be surprised, after what happened today.  But he did come to you, and maybe, somehow, that helps.  You put an arm over him and close your eyes again.  He's warm, and he's not shaking anymore.

You fall asleep to the feel of Rocket's breathing slowing down.


	5. Coming Home

Rocket dislikes Mando'a.

You remember this during the final jump to Manda'yaim.  You're alone in the cockpit while Rocket and Groot sleep.  There's no way you could sleep right now, not when you haven't been home in so long.  The weight of your armor feels _right_ , and though the helmet is set aside, the underwrap is already pulled up to your chin.  Your leg bounces restlessly.  You can't stop thinking about what Rocket and Groot are going to think about your people and your culture.

And your language.

Everyone on the Nova side of the galaxy has a universal translator—a small device programmed with a thousand languages and dialects and enough intuitive ability that the user can understand almost any race they might encounter in civilized space.

Almost.

There are some languages that throw the translators for a loop.  For one, there's Groot.  There's not an automated translator in the known universe that could handle the nuances in what Groot says.  You're not sure there's anyone or anything besides Rocket that really can.  For another, there's Mando'a.  The difference is that the latter example was done deliberately.  Once Rocket asked you to run some Mando'a through your universal translator so that he could copy the files into his own, but you couldn't do it.  An inherent part of being Mandalorian was _learning_ Mando'a.  If you gave away the whole language at once, especially to an _aruetii_ —even the best of them—it would go against what you and your family believe in.

Rocket is capable of understanding one of the few forms of spoken communication that his translator can't handle.  The fact that he can't do the same with another is probably why he gets so testy around it.

There's nothing to do about it now, of course.  Even as you consider it, the ship drops back to sublight, and you can see Manda'yaim from here.

Pure excitement runs all the way down to your fingertips again, and you put your helmet on.  You jog back to the bunks and knock on the door opposite yours.  Groot opens it, delight filling his face.  "I am Groot?"

"We're less than an hour out," you tell him.  "Is Rocket up yet?"

Rocket appears in the background.  His face is not filled with delight.  He hasn't been awake long enough for it to remember how to be a face yet.  He squints in your general direction and grunts, "You're chipper."

"I am Groot," Groot explains brightly.

"I know where we are," Rocket shoots back.  He scrubs at his eyes.  "What're you suited up for?  Your people gonna shoot at us or something?"

You roll your eyes, a gesture that Rocket fortunately can't see.  "Just get dressed, _di'kut_."

You go back to the cockpit to supervise the landing.  Groot joins you a few minutes later, marveling at the view, which only makes you smile wider.  He is a wonderfully appreciative audience.  You're on an approach vector by the time Rocket trots in, wearing his usual gear along with one of his favorite personalized weapons, a short-barreled variation on an RPG.

"Not everyone's here," you ramble as the engines swap over to deal with the atmosphere.  "Some of them are traveling, but they know we're coming so they'll make it back as soon as we can.  We're having at least one meal with the whole _aliit_ before we go back.  We won't be far from Keldabe, so we can go out."

Rocket huffs and leans against the arm of the pilot chair.  "Talk faster, Cas, I can still understand what you're saying."

You start to make a face at him, but a familiar voice comes over the comm speakers.  " _Olarom, vod'ika_."

You grin so hard your face hurts and lean forward.  "Kim'ika!"

"Speak Basic!" Rocket yells at the comm.

Kimmy laughs on the other end.  "Is that one of your friends you've been telling us about?"

Now both Rocket and Groot are looking at you.  You really wish she had said _that_ in Mando'a, but knowing Kimmy, it was intentional.  " _Ne'johaa_ , Kimmy," you huff.  You hang up on her, only because you're very nearly there.  What you call home is a complex that looks like it's in the middle of nowhere but is actually half an hour outside Keldabe.  The empty fields make landing convenient.  She's waiting on you when you land, pink armor standing out against the landscape.  You hit the boarding ramp almost as soon as the ship touches ground.

Kimmy runs to meet you in the middle, and with unrestrained shouts, you clang together in a fierce hug.  She's just as tall as you remember, and she's added some cute flowery designs to her left shoulder plate.

"Real scary friends you got," Rocket comments from behind you.

You break apart, and Kimmy throws an arm around your shoulder while you work off your helmet.  Before you can speak, Groot berates him.

"I'm just sayin'.  It's pink."

Groot smiles gently at Kimmy.  "I am Groot," he offers.

You don't need Rocket's translation for that.  "He likes your armor," you tell her.

She beams.  "Thank you."  She turns to you.  "He's Groot, I'm guessing."

Before you can confirm that, someone tackles you from behind and there's a squeal of " _Cassiiiiiiiiiie_ " in your ear.  Only one person you know can hit that tone of pure joy, so you hug her back as best you can.  "Hi, Hannah!"

She squeezes you once and comes around where you can see her bounce.  "Are you staying long?" she asks.

"Yes," you say firmly.  You've been away too long.  "Who else is here?"

Hannah bites her lip in thought.  "Everyone but Elizabeth and Skylar," she decides.  "But they'll be back soon!"

The warmth in your chest swells.  You knew you missed this, but you couldn't have imagined how good it would feel to be back.  You can't wait to be in a room full of laughter and good stories.  "Let's go introduce everyone."

"Are you hungry?" Kimmy asks Rocket and Groot.  "There's food."

"Now _that's_ the kind of welcome I'm talking about," Rocket declares, and leads the way up the hill to the compound.  Groot waves at Hannah and follows.

Kimmy sidles up to you on the way.  "They must be pretty special," she says quietly.

You think about how when you didn't have a building full of family, you had a ship with two good friends.  "My _vode_ away from home," you murmur.

"What was that?" Rocket snaps, and you jump.  "Can't you morons speak Basic?  Have some manners, Cas."

Kimmy and Hannah are grinning too broadly for you to play innocent, but you try anyway.  "Sorry, Rock'ika," you manage.  "I didn't say anything."


End file.
